


This Aint no Coffee Shop Romance

by mhunter10



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 20:51:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8504938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mhunter10/pseuds/mhunter10
Summary: The flower shop au you didn’t ask for





	

“God fucking dammit” Mickey sighed, looking up from the register. He slammed the drawer shut as the bell above the door chimed in his worst nightmare.

“Howdy,” the prick greeted with that stupid white smile, hands slapping down on the counter like he owned the place.

“What can I get for you to immediately throw out now?” Mickey asked with tight lips, although he added in a smile that rang fuck-you true.

The guy put a hand to his chest and had the audacity to pull off shock and offense the likes of a local theater improv class. Mickey rolled his eyes and bit his bottom lip in anticipation of the following performance.

“Mickey, I’m shocked you think I would do such a thing, and frankly, I’d like a word with the manager of this establishment please,” he finished, straightening his tie. He couldn’t seem to hold back the wink.

Mickey cursed his knees for going week. He tapped his pen on the pad of paper in front of him and tried his best not to return the grin currently sending waves of heat down his spine.

“I think I’ll go with daisies today, thank you,” the man finally said, watching as mickey scrawled it down.

“Any particular color?” Mickey asked, turning to ring it up.

“Yellow” he said simply, like it didn’t matter. And it really didn’t, Mickey knew.

Mickey just nodded and avoided looking at him as he went to the big fridge and grabbed a small batch of daisies and some accompanying greenery. When he returned, he carefully wrapped them in cellophane and ribbon then handed them over.

“Thank you, Mickey. My sister will love them.”

“Uhuh, is that the one who’s been to jail or the one that boxes?” Mickey asked, leaning on the counter and raising an eyebrow.

The guy chuckled. “The boxer.” He waved as he left.

Mickey immediately walked back into the fridge, hoping the burst of cold would sober him up and bring him back down to what he knew, which was flowers, but still. It obviously wasn’t a coincidence the guy kept coming in. Nobody had that many reasons to buy flowers, especially anyone from the south side. He’d been coming in for two weeks now and every time they would get into it; the easy sarcastic playful dialogue that both terrified and turned on. Mickey took several breaths, ignoring the bashful smile that played at his lips and the way his heart had to slow down if he was going to make it the rest of the day. The door chime brought him back to reality.

The next week was the same. Tall, pale and hot came in and ordered a simple bouquet. This time for his neighbor who found out she was pregnant again after having twins. The guy made dramatic displays of his semi-dorky charisma, and Mickey pretended it had no affect on his dick at all. He would spend more and more time trying to pull himself together in the fridge when he made a comment about his work or the way his hands did something. Then he would go the rest of the day completely wrecked by the transaction he was starting to live for.

But then there was a week he didn’t show, and Mickey told himself he was right to think it wouldn’t last. It didn’t make sense and it was great, but unrealistic. And stupid. He was stupid. So he filled orders and made deliveries and it was the worst week ever.

And then he was back, slightly subdued and not so pushy and confident. It was a little jarring, but missed way too much on Mickey’s part to be sane or healthy. He left with just a single rose with the thorns left uncut, and Mickey caught himself wanting to throw his apron off and run after him and ask what the hell happened. But he didn’t, and he wondered.

Not for long, though. He was back to his normal self, giving Mickey a hard time as usual. Being charming and non-too-coy, when all Mickey wanted to do was drag him somewhere the plants wouldn’t shame him. He’d had enough of their silent judgment when his rough hand brought him some relief on a late night. He was glad to have him back. He hated himself for getting so attached and drawn in, but he hated feeling lonely more.

And then he wasn’t alone. He just strolled in with someone else, another guy practically crawling on the floor ready to blow him the minute he gave him the time of day. But was it serious? Mickey wasn’t in the mood to play. He was angry and he didn’t know why. It didn’t matter. All they were and would ever be was customer service and customer. He was a guest, a client, nothing more than talk and the exchange of money that kept the shop from being pushed out by a fucking coffee shop.

Mickey made that clear, handing over the biodegradable tray of ready to plant pansies, and held his tongue to the easy insult.

“Bye, Mickey” was like stems snapping, dead yellow leaves and the taste of dry soil.

Mickey took a week off. Maybe it was to attend a convention in the city and take that class on poisonous arrangements, but it felt like a vacation from going crazy over something that would never happen. And it was good, but he was happy to return. He felt as fresh as a new shipment of daffodils.

The bell above the door chimed thirty minutes before closing. Mickey was finishing up an arrangement due for pick up in the morning, and it was his best work yet.

“It’s beautiful,” the voice said behind him.

Mickey turned and his stomach flipped up and knocked into his heart. At least that’s what it felt like. He almost gripped his chest like an award winning actor in a hospital drama.

“Where were you?”

Mickey sighed and began straightening up the counter; brushing away leaves and scraps of twine. He shrugged and finally looked at him again.

“What can I get for you?” he asked, drumming his fingers.

Half a minute passed before the guy cleared his throat. “A dozen roses, please. In a vase.”

Mickey almost laughed out loud. How dare he come into this flower shop to seal the deal on that mediocre piece of ass. He rung it up and took the cash, then picked out a simple crystal vase that he always sort of liked but no one had ever thought it nice enough.

“Any particular color?” he asked, preparing the water with the special formula to make them last longer.

“You pick,” was all he said, as he watched the whole process, desperately trying to catch Mickey’s eyes for more than a few seconds.

Mickey nodded, heading to the fridge that was his sanctuary. It sounded silly, but plants didn’t flirt for weeks then get totally wrong boyfriends. He took a deep breath and decided this would be the end of it. He had to let go, so why not go out on top? Of course, he would have liked to be the bottom, but he couldn’t afford that kind of thinking anymore. He’d made a decision and it was for his own good. He came back with twelve perfectly trimmed deep burgundy roses, and placed them expertly in the vase. He worked until they looked impeccable, only stealing glances at the man in front of him.

“Would you like a card?” he handed one over with a pen when he nodded, then tried not to look at what he was writing. All it said was ‘From Ian’, and Mickey felt like an idiot for pinning after a nameless jerk for over a month.

“Is that it?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you” he took the vase and walked out without even looking back.

“Prick,” Mickey mumbled, fighting the sting in his eyes by going back to the walk in where it was okay to feel cold. Then he heard the bell ring again. “What now?” he groaned.

But when he came back to the counter, it was him. He carefully sat the bouquet down and pushed them closer. Mickey looked at him and then the roses and then back to him. He didn’t have time for this. He wanted to go home.

“Is there something wrong?” he crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow like a challenge.

“No. They’re perfect,” he paused, still seeing the confusion on Mickey’s face, he took a breath and smiled. “They’re for you.”

Mickey stared for a full minute.

“Shut up” he finally said, waving his tattooed hand and rolling his eyes. “I have work to do.”

“No, Mickey. They’re for you” Ian said kind of nervously, scratching at his neck, “…because I like you.”

Mickey’s mouth opened and closed a few times, unable to wrap his head around what was happening. He was tired. This wasn’t happening. That was the only explanation.

“What are you even talking about?” he was kind of mad actually. Where did this guy even come from with this shit? “This ain’t no coffee shop romance, okay? You don’t like me. I’m a florist.”

Ian chuckled. “I’m not really all that into fancy coffee, so maybe that’s a good thing.”

“Unbelievable” Mickey threw his hands up and took his apron off, tossing it on the counter. He looked at the roses and they looked back at him, daring him to take in their beauty and meaning. The word 'dinner?’ hastily written on the card was like a shot of ice cold water to his roots.

“Are you serious?” he finally asked, feeling those tears well up again.

Ian’s mouth popped open in mock horror at the question. “Excuse me? You think I would lie about how attractive I find you and how much I’ve wanted to see if your lips are as soft as these petals? I’m gonna need to speak to a manager.”

Mickey was grinning hard from the minute he began his monologue. He shook his head, trying to hide his red face but also steal himself for what he was about to do. He moved the flowers aside and practically jumped across the counter, grabbing his face and kissing him. God, he was about to burst.

“So it’s true,” Ian panted, before pulling him in again.

Mickey couldn’t stop smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> the flower shop au you didn’t ask for


End file.
